s! Do you remember her, Eeny?"

"No," said Eeny. "You know I was such a little thing, Kate. All I know
about her is what Margery tells me."

"Who is Margery?"

"My old nurse, and Harry's, and yours, and Rose's. She nursed us all,
babies, and took care of mamma when she died. She was mama's maid when
she got married, and lived with her all her life. She is here still."

"I must see Margery, then. I shall like her, I know; for I like all
things old and storied, and venerable. I can remember mamma the last
time she was in England; her tall, slender figure, her dark, wavy hair,
and beautiful smile. She used to take me in her arms in the twilight and
sing me to sleep."

"Dear Kate! But Grace has been a mother to me. Do you know, Margery says
Rose is like her?"

"Whom? Mamma?"

"Yes; all except her temper. Oh!" cried Eeny, making a sudden grimace,
"hasn't Rose got a temper!"

Kate smiled.

"A bad one?"

"A bad one! You ought to see her tearing up and down the room in a
towering passion, and scolding. Mon Dieu!" cried Eeny, holding her
breath at the recollection.

"Do you ever quarrel?" asked Kate, laughing.

"About fifty times a day. Oh, what a blessing it was when she went to
Ottawa! Grace and I have been in paradise ever since. She'll behave
herself for a while when she comes home, I dare say, before you and
papa; but it won't be for long."

Grace came in, and Kate drew Eeny away to show her over the house. It
was quite a tour. Danton Hall was no joke to go over. Upstairs and down
stairs; along halls and passages; the drawing-room, where they had been
last night; the winter drawing-room on the second floor, all gold and
crimson; a summer morning-room, its four sides glass, straw matting on
the floor, flower-pots everywhere, looking like a conservatory; the
library, where, perpetuated in oils, many Dantons hung, and where
book-shelves lined the walls; into what was once the nursery, where
empty cribs stood as in olden times, and where, under a sunny window, a
low rocker stood, Mrs. Danton's own chair; into Kate's fairy boudoir,
all fluted satin and brocatelle; into her bed-chamber, where everything
was white, and azure, and spotless as herself; into Eeny's room, pretty
and tasteful, but not so superb; into Rose's, very disordered, and
littered, and characteristic; into papa's, big, carpetless, fireless,
dreadfully grim and unlike papa himself; into Grace's, the perfection of
order and taste, and then Eeny s